Mandi

Copyright, Mandi

I used this begining to an opening to another story I wrote, but it’s
all true.

My wrist twitched and I race to the bathroom… I gotta find something
sharp. My eyes tingle “not gonna cry, not gonna cry” I thought to myself
sliding my back down the bathroom stall door. I can’t do this anymore; I
can’t go on like this.

Mrs. Skibs really pissed me off this time. She failed me without even giving
me any chance of getting help. How could she do that? My mom’s gonna kill
me. Literally. I reach in my pocket and pull out a pin; “thank god” I
lightly scratch over my wrist several times forcing it semi-deep. I tightly
shut my eyes and let the tingle relax me. I take a few deep breaths and
start another cut along my skin, “good thing I wore my sweatshirt today” I
say to myself as I look down at my dirty hoodie. “Oh yeah I forgot, I always
wear this thing” I laugh to myself quietly. “Seems like the only person who
I can laugh at these days is myself.” I get back to class walking down the
hall, glancing back at his classroom. He looks at me disappointed; he knows
what I just did. I pull down my left sleeve and he mouths “I love you” as I
continue to walk down the hallway light headed.

I slide back into my seat and my old math teacher glares at me. She must
think I have some kind of bladder problem (I “go to the bathroom” so much
nowadays). My best friend looks at me across the room. I wonder silently to
myself if she knows. “Naw definitely not, my hair is just messy”. I brushed
my hair over my face some more and slide lower in my seat. “Damn, I really
hate math.” Numbers and graphs whirl in my head. The board gets blurry and
the teacher’s voice seems to stop. I run my finger over my fresh cut and
feel a tiny trickle of blood down my palm. “Shit!” I think to myself but
just wipe it on the inside of my sleeve.

“MANDI LOOK AT THE BOARD!” Mrs. Skibs screams across the room. Jake looks at
me suspiciously and Hayu kicks my chair. I jerk my head up blushing and
raise my hand. “Can I go to the bathroom?” my math teacher’s eyes are full
of anger and hate. “No, you may not, class is almost over.” My stomach drops
and I begin to grind my teeth. Somehow I made it through those last ten
minutes and as soon as the words “You may go.” left that hated woman’s
mouth, I was gone. I shoved through the halls till I made it to the set of
lockers before the bathroom. I was about to head towards the door when I
heard the familiar voice. “Mandi, STOP!” I turned around to see my group of
friends. I smile and wave then turn around to go to next block. “Damnit,
damnit, damnit!” I scream inside my head. I slide into my seat watching the
clock tick and the minutes float by.

Finally class is over and it’s lunch. Oh joy! I start walking
towards my locker as Angel rushes down the hall, spazing out. Silently I
wonder what’s wrong as she grabs my hand and drags me to the bathroom.

Oh the bathroom! So many tears have been shed in there, so many drops of
blood.

She’s breathing deeply and I can see flames of anger in her eyes. I don’t
bother to ask what’s wrong I just point to the safty pin on her shirt. She
slaps her head and smiles then runs to the back stall. The back
stall, the one everyone cries in, salty tears and crimson.

Somehow the day strolls by and I’m sitting in front of the computer talking
to my friends on AIM. As I talk I scratch deeper and deeper into my skin
with a tiny pin. I decide to make a web page. As I’m searching for pictures
online I type in “Crimson Tears” and a site called “SI” shows up. Curious to
what that means I click it. “Self Injurer.” Well that makes sense. I read
more and more and realize: That’s what I do. A little nervous that it has a
name but a little relieved that me and my few friends aren’t the only ones.

Months go by and I cut myself more and more. Loving the stinging of the
knife, the heat of my blood, the sight of it on a brand new razor blade, I
don’t want to stop.

One day at school my best friend comes running up to me crying. She got
caught. After she calms down I start to shiver. Heather got caught, now
Michelle. Who’s next?

There’s only 4 “cutters” in my group of friends. Heather, Michelle, Me, and
Angel. Michelle and Heather already stopped. Angel and me are trying.

The weekend after Michelle got caught was hell. So much stress and
arguments I couldn’t take it. I scratch deeply into my arm, first just
lines, then words all over my body “FUCK UP” stood out on my arm the most.

A week went by and I got a pass down to the nurses office. My breath starts
to become heavy and michelle looks worried. With my shaky hand I take the
pass from my math teacher and slowly walk the long way around the lockers. I
pass Alex’ class and he looks at me smiling at first, then worried. Jake
follows after me and I say “I’m going to get caught.” He looks confused and
I walk away. Slowly I drag each foot to the nurses office. Luckily, Ryan’s
there.

The nurse sits me down after Ryan leaves and says “You’re here about
cutting.”

She reaches over and pulls up my left sleeve. “Shit, shit, shit, shit.”

I pull it down fast and scream “DON’T TELL MY MOM!”

Tears form in my eyes and I start bawling, all I say is “don’t tell my mom
please, please don’t tell my mom.”

She says softly “Mandi, I have to tell her, it’s my job.” I stand up and say
“I’ve got to go” she follows behind me, asking where. I scream “BACK TO
CLASS” loudly. I open the door to Math with tearstained cheeks and
Michelle’s eyes beg me for an answer. I beg mrs. Skibs to let me go to the
bathroom, so I don’t cry in front of the class. She says sure and I write a
pass quickly. I run to the bathroom and Alex looks from his doorway
nervously at me. I shake as the water hits my hands and my jaw shivers up
and down. I walk out of the bathroom eyes bright blue (they get that way
when I cry) and all I say to Alex is “I got caught.” Mrs. Skibs is walking
towards me and Alex whispers “for…” I nod and mrs. Skibs grabs my hand
walking me back to class.

The rest of the day went by as a blur.

I remember walking down the hall with Angel and Michelle then seeing my mom.
Scared I run the other way. Racing out the back door onto the back road. I
run to the street as my friends carry me back in crying. I see some cops
down the hall and kids staring silently, confused, curious. Somehow I ended
up in my bed, with a glass of water next to me.

My mom walks in as I yawn loudly and says “so, can we talk about this?”

Her voice is cracking, shes about to cry, her cheeks are red and nose is
running. All I say is “stop.”